


The Fading of Light

by OrmondSacker



Category: Guardians of the Whills - novel, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Jedha, M/M, Sadness, endings and beginnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: After Denic, Kaya Gimm and the children are safely off planet, Chirrut and Baze return to their home seemingly in bliss. But happy endings rarely remain happy. Or endings.





	The Fading of Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seaofolives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/gifts).



> Written of Seasofolives for the Spiritassassin Fic Exchange. 
> 
> Prompt: If familiar with the book, the night immediately after the ending of gotw. (Ooooh boy am I familiar.)  
> May not have been exactly what you were looking for, but I hope it satisfies anyway.

Chirrut's hands are curled around a mug of cooling tea as he sits in their tiny home, listening to the sounds of the city. It is hushed tonight, a tense quiet as it waits for the blow to fall, the Empire's retaliation for a stolen shuttle, for the fact that the people of Jedha had dared stand up to them, dared to escape in so openly a fashion.

At least Denic, Kaya Gimm and the children were safe. As safe as anyone could be in the galaxy these days.

"You're meant to drink that," Baze grumbles from the stove. "Not stare at it."

Chirrut takes a sip, more to placate his husband than because he wants to and grimaces at the lukewarm liquid. Only belatedly does he realize that Baze set him up to make a joke, but doesn't pursue it. He is in no mood to joke.

Their small room is filled with the smell of cooking food, the scent of the simmering  _chava_ roots and  _laichi_ mixing with that of the boiling  _oora_ grains. On any other night Chirrut would find the smell delicious, but tonight he has no appetite. Like the city he feels like he is poised, waiting, unable to relax and find comfort in small things, knowing and yet not knowing what will come, unable to prevent it.

With a silent reprimand, he tries to push the whirling thoughts aside, worrying about that which has not yet happened will gain him nothing except restlessness and a lack of focus. He downs the rest of the tea and focuses of the sounds of Baze at the stove, the creaks of the floor as he shifts his weight, the soft clinks as he stirs the pots.

But Baze too is far too silent. Usually when he cooks he will mutter and hum under his breath, telling Chirrut much about his state of mind from what he sings. But tonight, there is nothing. Chirrut wonders if the lack of sounds from his husband subconsciously is contributing to his own unease.

As perhaps does his lack of sense of him. He used to be able to sense his husband, always, ever, but late it has become harder, as if Baze's presence flickers in the Force. Or as he is fading away, retreating.

Rising, Chirrut goes and rinses his mug, placing it in the sink. Baze moves aside without a word and without touching him, no brush of their bodies against each other as they customarily do when they pass close to each other.

Chirrut feels as if he's been sucker punched, the lack of physical contact as painful as a blow.

_"I really thought this was how I'd finally get rid of you."_

Baze's words from that afternoon springs into his mind. At the time he had considered them a joke, his husband's usual form of humor, but now?  _Had Baze meant them?_

Chirrut shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought. He's not an adolescent, he's far too old for such ridiculous insecurities and he knows Baze too well.

_Or_ _d_ _oes_ _he? Truly?_

Baze had been as unwilling as he to sacrifice the children's chance for safety for a direct strike against the Empire. And  _he_ had been the one to break off the relationship with Gerrera, but he only did so after it was clear that Chirrut was staying on Jedha.

What would Baze have decided, had Chirrut chosen to go with the children?

"Will you be standing there all evening? I need the tap." Baze's voice – flat and unemotional – jars Chirrut out of his disturbing thoughts. He is standing right next to him, close enough that they almost touch but conspicuously not doing so.

Chirrut steps aside, deliberately brushing his hand over Baze's arm as he does. Baze pulls away with a jerk, but not before Chirrut feels anger spill through the touch. No, not anger, fury.

Baze's anger has been there for years, since the Empire came to Jedha, since the temple fell, even before that, but the white blaze he senses in the touch is new, if not in nature, then in intensity. But even that was hardly new.

_"Here_ _your_ _anger only grows. You must leave_ _Jedha_ _before it_ _con_ _sumes_ _you."_

He has sensed Baze's anger grow over the last months, before they ever even heard of Gerrera, but the General had fed it. Passion answers to passion.

"If you are simply going to stand there loitering you might as well go back and sit at the table, food is almost done."

"Baze," Chirrut starts but he can hear Baze turn away from him and back to the stove. 

Helplessness wash over him. He doesn't know how to fight this. How do you argue against silence? How do you move that which walks away from you? Not knowing what else to do he does as Baze tells him and sits down at the table.

How much they both have changed and not for the better. He would blame the General, but that would be misplaced. Gerrera's appearance did not change them, it just brought to light the changes already there, brought on by the Empire's occupation, by the loss of the temple, by trying to stay alive in a city whose 'authorities' were now hostile too all those of faith, hostile to the very populace they ruled.

A bowl is put in front of him, interrupting his thoughts.

"Eat."

Chirrut takes his chop sticks, picks up a piece of  _chava_ root and puts it in his mouth. It tastes like ashes to him. With a sigh, he puts the chop sticks down again. He can feel the brief glare Baze sends him, but still his husband says nothing.

This has to be dealt with and the only way he can think of is head on, no matter how much that may hurt.

"Would you prefer me to leave?" Chirrut asks quietly.

Yesterday he would never have asked this, yesterday it would never have occurred to him that Baze might feel this way. But now, tonight, being poised in this state of uncertainty and waiting and seeing clearly, perhaps for the first time, all the changes that has happened in Baze and in himself it will not leave him.

"What are you talking about?" Baze asks in return.

"This afternoon, I remember what you said."

He finds himself hoping that Baze will tell him that it was just a joke, that there is some other reason for his reticence and distance, but it withes when his words are met with more silence.

"You wouldn't understand," Baze replies at long last.

"Then  _make_  me!"

The depth of his own passion surprises him, but it feels like everything is slipping through his fingers like the desert sand and perhaps he should not try to stop it, perhaps this is how it is meant to be, but the thought of losing Baze fills him with dread. Their equilibrium has been upended and he feels like he's falling with no way of reestablishing it.

There is a shift in Baze's presence, a further fading, as if he's drawing away again. Not gone, not vanished, not yet, but slipping away.

"Since you're so eager to bring up this afternoon tell me this, do you really think so little of my self-control?"

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently you think I can't control my anger."

Chirrut sits stunned.

"That... was not what I meant."

There is nothing but even more silence from Baze.

Chirrut reaches out, seeking Baze's hand. Normally he knows precisely where his husband is within a millimeter's accuracy, but now he's groping blind his words stuck in his throat.

His fingertips brushes calloused skin and cracked nails, and he folds his fingers fold around Baze's hand. After a few seconds Baze's hand turn and his fingers bend to envelop Chirrut's.

"You have a soft heart," Chirrut whispers when he finds his voice again. "I do not want to see you lose it. Your anger burns so hot and have burned for so long, sometimes I fear it will destroy that softness, turn it to nothing but ash. With the children, you were happy."

Chirrut squeezes Baze's hand.

"It is not your self-control I doubt, but we have both changed so much. Much rather than see you lose your gentleness I would have you far away, in a place and with people where you can keep it."

Baze's free hand comes up to cup Chirrut's cheek, coarse skinned fingers tenderly brushing across the cheek bone and down his jaw.

"Do you remember the day we learned the Clone Wars had started?" Baze asks.

"A bit of news that is hard to forget, wouldn't you say?" Chirrut says with dry humor after a moment's silent confusion at the non- sequitur.

Baze huffs, a hint of amusement in the sound.

"I didn't mean the news, I meant the day itself. Before we heard."

He remembers that he had been truly happy that day, before they heard. His sight had been all but gone, only his ability to discern light and shadow remaining and even that would fade completely before the year was out. But he had made his peace with it, relearned his life and skills and on that day, he had felt he truly had his feet under him again. Only to later learn that the galaxy was coming apart at the seams. The irony of it both saddened and amused him.

"Yes, I recall it," he replies.

"You managed to best me in combat that day, for the first time since you lost your sight. You glowed."

"You mean I was young and prideful enough to get arrogant about my victory," Chirrut says, drily amused.

Baze chuckles.

"You had good right to be proud of yourself in that, but even before you won you were radiant." Baze sighs. "I wanted to protect that, but I couldn't."

"Baze-" Chirrut starts, but Baze continues without stopping.

"You were radiant again today. I haven't seen you like that since that day."

"And you wanted to protect that," Chirrut concludes.

He smiles with a mixture of wistfulness and joy. Standing he moves to Baze's side, wraps his arms around his shoulders and leans down to kiss his hair.

"Old fool," he whispers fondly, the words meant as much for himself as for Baze.

Baze clasp Chirrut's arm tightly.

The anger is still there, as powerful as ever, but Baze no longer feels as he's fading away to Chirrut. Baze sits still in his embrace, but Chirrut can feel the slight pressure against his midriff as Baze's weight shifts in against him. A second later a hand settles around Chirrut's wrist.

It is Baze who breaks the silence.

"You should finish your food. Who knows when we'll next have the time to sit down and eat."

Chirrut resumes eating. The food no longer turns to ash on his tongue, instead he notices the subtle flavoring that Baze has added to the meal.

"It is odd that the Empire has not already retaliated," he says after a few mouthsful.

"Perhaps they don't want to admit that someone could steal a shuttle right from under their noses?"

"They haven't been late to respond at any other time, no matter how ignominious it made them look to admit they had lost something."

"Levels. Losing supplies is common theft, losing weapons implies the possibility of serious resistance. Losing a shuttle... that's more than an implication. I'm not sure they're going to retaliate, not when they didn't do so right away."

Chirrut chews slowly on a  _chava_  root before swallowing.

"So people might be safe?"

"For now," Baze rumbles.

For now, it will always only be 'for now' as long as the Empire remains on Jedha. And there was no indication that they would leave, nor was there any fighting them that would not make the people of Jedha pay a steep price.

Sighing Chirrut continues eating. 

Like Killi had said, it was a never ending and constantly escalating cycle that could only end in one way as far as Chirrut could see, with Jedha's destruction. But how many would lose their lives before then? And not live long enough to see the possibility, however faint, that the Empire would one day leave? Without having the chance of leaving themselves?

The thought makes him sit up abruptly, his mind suddenly awhirl.

"What?" Baze asks.

"Every person on Jedha makes for a target for the Empire," Chirrut says slowly, trying to sort out his thoughts as he speaks.

"Not like most people doesn't have the ability to leave," Baze comments.

"Not on their own."

The chair creaks as Baze shifts on it.

"What do you mean?"

"Between us, we know a lot of people here on Jedha."

"Yes."

"People who can pilot, people who knows the underworld, people who knows how to get off world."

"You're talking about smugglers, thieves and killers. You think they would help out of the kindness of their hearts?"

"No, but few of them have any love of the Empire. And a few still have faith."

Chirrut doesn't need to see to know Baze is shaking his head, but it is true all the same.

"So you would have these people of ill-repute do what exactly?"

"Help people off Jedha? I thought that was obvious."

"Did the wind turn your head?"

"No. I'm serious. Remember what Killi said? That the circle of us striking against the Empire only to have them strike back against us, has to be broken? But it cannot, until the Empire leaves, or people do."

One of Baze's hands grips Chirrut's wrist tightly, in an almost desperate grip.

"Chirrut, you can't save the entire city."

Chirrut lets out a slow breath.

"I know. We might not even be able to save that many. But every person who leaves is one less person who can be a target for the Empire."

"You're crazy."

"Perhaps, but I'm also right. And what else would you have us do? Go back to Gerrera?"

"No," Baze answers in a flat tone.

They continue to eat in silence, Chirrut knowing that Baze will need time to mull over the idea.

"Hmm, Rena Brenko knows their way about ships and they've been off planet more than once lately," Baze says slowly once they're done. Chirrut can hear from his tone that he's warming to the idea. "Let's clean up this and we'll go see them."

"Now?" Chirrut says surprised.

"Yes, now. There is no reason for waiting and have you ever known Rena to care about curfew?"

"No."

"Have you ever known  _us_ to care about curfew?"

Chirrut grins and Baze makes a small 'well?' sound.

The dishes are quickly cleaned and the table cleared, and they head off into the Jedhan night together.

There is coming a battle, Chirrut can feel it in the hush that is still lying over the city, in the stillness of the Force. When it comes he knows that the people of his home will pay a high price indeed and there is nothing he or Baze can do to change that, but by doing this at least some will be safe.


End file.
